


A Cold

by sylveparker



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock - Fandom, Sherlock BBC, Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Fluff, John Watson - Freeform, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson - Freeform, SherlockBBC - Freeform, m/m - Freeform, sherlock/john
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:13:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29200389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sylveparker/pseuds/sylveparker
Summary: Sherlock Holmes doesn't get sick. But several sneezes and a few coughs later, Doctor John Watson might just have to take care of his sniffling detective.
Relationships: Johnlock, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Sherlock and John - Relationship, Sherlock/John - Relationship
Kudos: 19





	A Cold

POV: John Watson

“Bless you.” I sigh.  
He ignores me.  
He’s sneezed seven times since we got here.  
Lestrade catches my eye.  
I roll my eyes and shrug, shaking my head.  
He sighs.  
“Sherlock,” he says, stepping over the body on the floor, towards Sherlock, “you’re sick. You need to go home. I can’t have you contaminating my crime scene.”  
Sherlock stares at him.  
Oh boy, here we go.  
“I am not sick.” He spat back. “I don’t get sick.”  
And then he sneezes again.  
“Bless you.” I say.  
He shoots me a look, he’s pissed.  
“Sherlock let’s just go home. You can rest awhile, and we’ll pick this back up tomorrow.” I say.  
He looks at me, the circles under his eyes darker than usual.  
He looks back at the body, then at Lestrade.  
Then sneezes again.  
“Fine.” He says, swishing the tail of his coat as he storms out the door.  
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose between my fingers.  
“Good luck with that.” Lestrade says, laughing.  
“Gee, thanks.” I say, making my way to the door as well.  
Sherlock is pouting in the back of the cab when I get down to the street.  
“Baker Street please.” I tell the cabbie, sliding in beside Sherlock.  
He looks out the window.  
“Sherlock, it’s not a big deal. You have a cold. Everyone gets colds.” I murmur to him.  
“I do not have a cold!” He exclaims, and promptly falls into a fit of coughing.  
“Uh huh.” I say, raising my eyebrows at him.  
We get to the flat, and Sherlock storms up the stairs, slamming his bedroom door behind him.  
“What has gotten into him?” Mrs. Hudson asks me, “Have you two had a row?”  
“Sherlock has a cold. He’s just mad that his body is acting normal, for once.” I say, smiling at Mrs. Hudson before going upstairs.  
Seventeen sneezes and six coughing attacks later, a hoarse voice calls me from Sherlock’s bedroom.  
I close my laptop, get up from my chair, and walk down the hall.  
“Yes, Sherlock?” I ask, opening his door and stepping inside.  
“John,” He says, his voice nasally and weak, “I think… I might have a cold.”  
“Oh? You think so?” I answer, laughing.  
He glowers at me.  
I clear my throat, trying to disguise the laugh as a cough.  
“Lie down, I’ll be back.” I say, leaving his bedroom.  
I go to the kitchen and make him a cup of tea, one sugar, the way he likes it.  
I take the tea back to his room, and sit on the side of his bed, offering him the cup.  
He wraps his long fingers around it and takes a drink.  
“Thank you, John.” He says, sighing and leaning back down on his pillow.  
I press the back of my hand against his forehead, no fever.  
He smiles at me.  
“What?” I ask, running my hand down his face, across his cheekbones.  
“Just waiting for orders, Dr. Watson.” He says, smiling slyly.  
“Well, you’ll need lots of rest and fluids.” I say, pushing his curls away from his face.  
I lean forward and kiss his forehead.  
“And you’ll need to do whatever your boyfriend tells you for the next few days.” I whisper into his ear.  
His eyes widen as I pull back, his cheeks reddening slightly.  
“Doctors orders.” I say, shrugging.  
He finishes his tea and I put the cup on the side table.  
I sit next to him on the bed, and he lays with his head in my lap.  
I stay there, running my fingers through his thick curls until he falls asleep.  
A soft knock at his door, and Mrs. Hudson peeks her head into the room  
She smiles gently.  
“Oh, look at you two.” She says, covering her heart with her hand.  
“He’s so much more tolerable when he’s asleep, isn’t he?” She whispers, winking at me.  
I chuckle softly, looking down at Sherlock’s face.  
He always looks softer when he sleeps, when all the walls are down.  
“You’re good for him, John. He needed you.” Mrs. Hudson says, shutting the door softly.  
I trace Sherlock’s features with my finger.  
His smooth pale skin, his high cheekbones, his soft pink bowed lips.  
He’s perfect, even when he’s asleep.  
“I needed you too.” I whisper to him, pressing my lips against his forehead again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment! :)


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